


Watering Wilted Memories

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Florist Steve, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-TWS, i don't even like myself for writing this, i hate the name of this eww, tattoo artist bucky, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 10:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4345433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The Winter Soldier was working on the same block as Captain America, and it only seemed to spell trouble.</i>
</p>
<p>(Post-TWS, Florist/Tattoo Artist AU kinda?) Steve finds that Bucky has resurfaced once again, this time very close to home. It's time to pull at the loose string and watch their relationship unravel, but what will it be in the end?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watering Wilted Memories

It started as a sort of hobby, but eventually working with flowers really grew on Steve Rogers. After raising his buds into flowers, he would arrange them with great care and sell them at a heavily discounted price for the extravagance that they presented. He had always been rather good at caring for plants- before the whole fiasco that was the Super Soldier Serum and the war, he kept a small garden. And although he had to sustain some heavy mocking from the team (mainly Tony), he eventually decided he would open a small flower shop in a rented space. It was only about 10 blocks away from the tower, which put it well within walking distance.  
He quickly grew in reputation as the best florist on that side of the Hudson, despite his inconvenient and fluctuating hours. It seemed that only half of his clients knew he was Captain America- at least, half of them cared. He had regulars, familiar faces, almost-friends. It was fun to be out in public, to mingling with people that lived in the norm, to be treated like a normal human being. He felt more connected to the city there.  
And the shop itself, well, it was something wonderful. It was a sparkling diamond in a rough city. The stock ranged dramatically from the common rose (although in a whole spectrum of colors and sizes), to the exotic and fragile plumeria, to the gentle and calming blue bell. Most other flowers are available upon request. Almost all of them are hand raised by Steve himself. The floors are covered with random shelves of varying size and shape, strewn here and there with little consideration to remaining floor space. These shelves are covered in carefully organized bouquets and flower pots. Freshly painted brick walls were nearly completely obscured by beautiful plant life.  
After only a few months of business, the shop had become a tourist attraction, with people filing and out, huge smiles plastered on their faces and arms full of bunches and bunches of flowers. Keeping up with all the customers came to be too much to handle in the short hours the shop was open, and he decided to hire a few workers and extended the hours as to better handle the constant flow of people. It came to the point where he even had to make a system of letting people in and out as to abide to the building’s fire safety standard.  
None of this was what Steve had expected when he opened when he opened up the shop, but the greatest surprise by far was when someone decided to rent the other empty space on the block. The fact that it was finally being occupied was not the surprise, despite its high price- it was a prime spot to get some attention. The type of business was certainly a bit shocking- a florists’ audience wasn’t exactly identical to that of a tattoo artists’- but even that was nothing in comparison.  
The true awe-inspiring discovery was that, upon peeking in through the window on the artist at work, he recognized the face. In his curiosity, Steve squinted and found that he did, indeed, know the artist.

James Barnes had a steady hand and a pretty face.

The Winter Soldier was working on the same block as Captain America, and it only seemed to spell trouble.

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter is more of a prelude I guess, just to put in a setting. Hopefully I can make the next chapters longer. I hope you enjoyed my first Stucky fic, and feel free to let me know what you think!


End file.
